Memories Given
by bethisa
Summary: After Regulus Black was killed, he chose to give his memories to the Potter child, the one chosen by fate to get rid of the Dark Lord. This sacrifice greatly affects the course of the future, but how? Harry/Undecided ; AU
1. Prolouge

It was cold, the day Regulus died. The air seemed to bite at the very ends of nerves as he walked into the cave. "Kreacher?" He called out simply, and immediately the young house elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Regulus? What can Kreacher be doing for you?" Regulus' pale green eyes looked up for the first time, and Kreacher's widened in shock as he saw the stress evident in them. His burning hatred for Lord Voldemort only grew when he saw what that _thing_ was doing to his master, his best friend. Kreacher felt a bit of satisfaction when Regulus snorted in amusement.

"It's just Regulus, Kreacher. We're friends, not master and slave." Much in his fashion, Regulus danced around the question. "I- I have an order for you, though. A- dying wish. Destroy the locket. Help the one who searches the horcruxes the Dark Lord has. Promise me, Kreacher. Promise me you will." Kreacher's eyes widened.

"Master… Regulus… You mustn't… Kreacher will drink icky potion. Master Regulus… Friend… You will survive." It came as a quiet plea, much meeker than he had first intended.

"_He _would kill me anyway. I need you alive, Kreacher. You'll be able to finish the task. Tell nobody of this, even if it's your Master. Not anybody who was alive for this war. Promise me you'll listen." Regulus had a smile full of regret plastered on his face. "I only wish… I'll miss you, old friend. When the potion is gone, switch the lockets and run with the horcrux. Wear it; it wouldn't try to possess a house elf. Don't let anyone take it from you, even after it's destroyed."

"Kreacher will be doing what Ma- Regulus is asking. Kreacher will be destroying icky locket. Kreacher will be missing Friend." Kreacher, for the first time in what felt like forever, felt tears well in his bulbous eyes.

"And I you, Kreacher" were the last words Regulus uttered, before he finished the potion and fell into the lake of dead, familiar faces.

-x-

Regulus found himself at a crossroads, staring at Kings Cross Station. He jumped as he heard a voice, eyes wide as he saw his beautiful Marlene staring sadly at him.

"I wish I hadn't needed to meet you so soon, lovely." She sounded regretful. "But I… I can't help but feel relieved. I was worried you'd fall in love with someone else… That you'd forget all about me…" Regulus sighed, biting at his lip as he stared into those eyes he'd so fallen in love with.

"I could never, Marlene. You know you're the only one who could ever mean anything to me… I've missed you." Regulus squeezed her hand gently; thumb rolling over the back of it. He smiled at the feel of the smooth skin. It was just as he had remembered it to be.

"Regulus, before I take you on… You've been given an opportunity." As Regulus opened his mouth to interrupt, Marlene hushed him with a pointed look. "Lily Potter's son is going to be born as a child of prophesy, and the death of Voldemort will come at a terrible price. If you choose to share your memories with him, then he'll be able to change the Wizarding World in ways we've dreamt of. But it means you'll be stuck here until the Dark Lord is gone for good…" Regulus froze for a moment. This was what he'd died for; in hopes to change his world for the better. It was with not just a little regret that he muttered his answer.

"I'll hopefully see you soon then, Marlene. I love you." With a sad smile, she boarded the train alone, with a promise to come back for him. 

-x-

**Alright, so that was the prologue. Please review. (: I'll get chapter one once it's finished.**

**Love, Beth3**


	2. Chapter 1

The child of James and Lily Evans-Potter was born on 31 July 1980. His birth was a joyous occasion for the couple. Unfortunately, their happiness didn't last for long, as they went into hiding, wrinkles caused now by worry, not smiles. The wrinkles were smoothed when they were killed, blissfully unaware of the hardships their darling son would have to face. While beloved by his parents, many others had much different opinions of the dashing boy.

Freak, less commonly known as Harry James Potter, had always been a peculiar child. Things, worrying things, happened around him sometimes. Once, his aunt, Petunia, had him work in her garden, and while Harry was dreading making the sunburn he had worse, he moved to do it anyway. The moment Petunia's back was turned, the weeding was finished. The freakish child had the audacity to insist it wasn't him, but something his imaginary friend, Regulus, had done once, and the freak wanted to copy him. Harry had double the punishment for lying.

The neighbors found Harry to be an oddity, and oddities weren't appreciated in the tight-knit Catholic neighborhood. It was only shameful, they insisted, that the Dursleys were unable to weed the heathenism out of the boy, just like Mrs. Dursley's no good sister – little Harry's mother. It was just bad blood; they insisted sadly, giving up the lost cause before it was ever lost to begin with. Their black and white views of the world stopped them from caring when they saw him dirty, grimy, and bruised. They simply didn't care. After all, the Potter boy would just end up in jail anyway; there was no point in trying to stop the inevitable. It was better to let him grow up used to what he'd get at a prison. It would only be cruel to give him a taste of what he'd never be able to have.

The teachers at the private Catholic school that Dudley Dursley and useless Harry attended had been warned ahead of time. They knew what a terror the sloppy boy would be. Naturally, the sisters had no qualms to cane the insolent boy when necessary. Mr. Potter (a name always uttered with sheer disdain) learned only to not ask questions or cling onto his stupid imaginary friend (named Regulus, of all things! Not even a proper name from the Holy Book!) when Father John took him to his office. They only regretted how the good Father had sullied himself with such a heathen. Of course, they had to repeat the process every time report cards came out, as the stupid boy made their school look bad with his terrible marks.

Sadly, despite the adults' conceptions of the under-nourished boy, Harry wasn't to be a future criminal, at least not at his fault. The first sign of proof was when he ran away from his cousin, becoming invisible along the way. Though it was a remarkable plan for the then six-year-old, Dudley had, unfortunately, seen it. Harry hadn't known how terrible hunger pains could be until his punishment. It was all Harry could do to not sob in relief when he got a small, mostly free of mold, loaf of bread a month later. It would have been a shorter amount of time, but he had to eat his small cheese sandwich and milk for lunch during school. On weekends, he did twice as many chores to make up for breaking his fast.

Reflecting on his array of past punishments, however, Harry couldn't help but think that he'd had much worse. For instance, harry always got punished when grade reports came out. Uncle Vernon would break his body for making Dudley look bad my comparison. However, when Harry had terrible grades, the _good sister_ brought him to Father John. Though his methods left Harry shaking, scared, and disgusted with himself, (_that_ was _never_ supposed to go _there_) he much preferred the punishment he received from school. Discomfort in his bum was nothing compared to the blows he received at home. The school didn't take away his foo of beloved books. Yes, Harry would much rather be humiliated and used by Father John than be punished at home. After all, Harry couldn't help but think that it was always much more enjoyable at home when he was a good boy: when he cooked breakfast perfectly; when he didn't do anything freaky; when he did all his chores; when he ceased to exist when guests came over. Harry adored the praise he received when he was good. Having a much larger-than-average meal (nearly _half_ the size of Dudley's!) was all the praise Harry, as starved of love as he was, needed.

Harry didn't mind, really, that they – the neighbors, sisters, his relatives – hated him. After all, he had Regulus. Regulus Arcturus Black was not just Harry's imaginary friend, _oh no_, Regulus was _real_. He wasn't so much Harry's _friend_, per say, (they never spoke, and Harry was certain Regulus had never met Harry, but Harry knew everything about him, simply because he'd had the other male's memories as long as Harry could remember. Harry had long ago unconsciously modeled himself after Regulus: obedient, kind, collected, elegant. Harry, once figuring out his hair would change at his whim, had slowly (as to not arise suspicion) allowed his hair to grow on top. He was pleased when the messiness of his hair was proved to be a result of a curly texture mixed with a lack of length to be able to actually curl. With his hair a palette of curls on top, shorter on the sides, his freakish lightning bolt scar was covered, hidden, a welcome side effect. The result was as he'd hoped; his cheekbones seemed to stand out so much more, making him look like a much healthier mixture of his parents, what with his mother's beautiful eyes and hair texture and his father's rather attractive bone structure and coloring, should Regulus' memories be proved correct (as they usually were).

After all, Regulus had been correct about magic. Harry had seen things, usually around Dudley and himself. The Dursleys always blamed Harry for the occurrences, but Harry knew better; Dudley was simply a mudblood. After all, Harry got blamed with everything else Dudley did that was considered naughty. Harry was just proud that he, a stupid, filthy muggle, figured it out.

Harry counted the days until Dudley's departure to Hogwarts on a makeshift calendar. He was ever-so patient, helped by the menial task of minding the garden all summer. Such easy, mindless tasks just made his time waiting fly.

Then it came. Harry smiled quietly to himself, hands running over the smooth parchment envelope. (_'How did parchment manage to feel so _right_?'_) Jealousy didn't cross Harry's mind, only genuine excitement for his cousin, as he saw the lack of return address and beautiful calligraphy writing: _Mr. D. Dursley, Biggest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_. Maybe, if Harry let Dudley beat him up, _he_ could read the Hogwarts textbooks…? In his distraction, Harry never noticed the second parchment envelope peeking from behind.

**And that's the end of chapter one! I hope it lives up to your expectations. (: Sorry this wasn't put up sooner; I've had it written (I handwrite my stories at school, then type them up) but I just haven't gotten around to the actual typing! I'll have the next few chapters up soon enough as well; I believe at least two or three more are already finished!**

**Love, Beth.**


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